


what is Hannibal fanfiction if not psychosis persevering

by cleocore



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Established reader/Hannibal Lecter, Established reader/Will Graham, Explicit Sexual Content, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Loves You, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Semi-Public Sex, Slight Canon Divergence, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Loves You, mention of murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleocore/pseuds/cleocore
Summary: A collection of smut and fluff prompts about WillxHannibal, WillxReader, and HannibalxReader. I take requests!! Comment any prompts you want written and I'll add them to my list :)
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Reader, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Prompt #21: Will licks blood off of Hannibal’s fingers.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoeney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoeney/gifts).



A/N: This was inspired by an art piece by @/hannigwam on Instagram! Check them out :)

————————————————————

Will can smell the blood as soon as Hannibal opens the door. 

He shoots up in bed at the sound of the vacuum seal bag hitting their meticulous custom marble tiled floor. Will brings a hand up to his mouth as he lets out a languid yawn, preparing himself to go downstairs and help Hannibal bring in the body before the man himself suddenly appears beside him in bed, as if by magic. They come together like magnets, wordlessly, so in sync with each other’s movements it’s as if they barely even exist as independent agents. Hannibal lifts a finger up and encircles Will’s lips, slowly, deliberately. 

“Open,” he whispers, and Will complies, taking a crimson covered digit into his wanting mouth. A pornographic sigh escapes Will as the tangy, metallic substances of his lover's latest victim flood his tongue, overwhelming his taste buds with the glorious taste of revenge. 

“Who was she?” Will muses, cradling Hannibal’s hand in his own, relishing the taste of his skin as he kisses each knuckle one at a time. Hannibal swells with pride at Will’s ability to identify his victims sex by their blood - it was something they’d been practicing for a while. 

“A waitress,” Hannibal sighs as he brushes aside that pesky stray curl that always manages to creep its way into the centre of Will’s forehead. “Four years ago, she not only brought me an entrée that was inexcusably cold, but then had the audacity to make a horribly rude expression when I asked for it to be reheated.” Hannibal’s jaw tightens, the thought of the woman’s discourtesy filling his mouth with a rancid taste. His annoyance melts into the cosmos as Will’s small arms hug his waist, pulling Hannibal up to join him in the confines of their ridiculously massive satin covered bed. 

“And are you going to cook me the same dish she brought you?” Will asked, his voice small as he draped himself across the bigger man, gingerly unbuttoning his stiff dress shirt and kissing every patch of skin he uncovers. Will finds it unbearably funny that Hannibal refuses to wear anything other than his perfectly tailored three piece suits when hunting his prey, he always says it makes him feel more prepared. Hannibal grins as he pets Will’s curls, imagining the ways he can enjoy that foolish girl now that she exists in a form where she can actually serve as useful to humanity. 

“Of course, my love,” he whispers, his breaths becoming laboured as Will finished unbuttoning, peeling the designer cloth off of Hannibal’s hot skin. Will kisses down his arm, making a dissatisfied noise when he uncovers a gash on Hannibal’s milky wrist. An occasional occupational hazard was victims getting scratchy. Will looks up at him, asking silent permission. He’s met with a curt nod - Hannibal knows exactly what he wants. Will presses his mouth down to the wound, expertly reopening the flesh with his teeth in a way he knows won’t cause Hannibal any pain, but enough for his hot, coppery blood to start slowly oozing onto Will’s desperate tongue. Will moans at the taste of Hannibal filling his mouth, suckling on his arm until his lips are cherry red, and his head is clouded with nothing but Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal. 

Hannibal readjusts himself, letting his head fall back as he concentrates on the feeling of Will’s small tongue lapping up every ounce of his slowly seeping blood that he possibly can, as if he were a dying man, and Hannibal’s blood the golden ambrosia that would save him from the clamps of Hades’ cruel darkness. “My darling,” he breathes hoarsely as he feels the cut beginning to mend, the flow of blood steadily subsiding. Will whines as he slowly weens himself off Hannibal’s arm, moving up to attach himself to his lips in a singular fluid motion. Hannibal moans desperately into Will as the taste of his own hot blood fills his mouth, coupled with the familiar taste of faint coffee and mint on Will’s tongue. 

“I think...” Will trails off into a moan as Hannibal attaches his lips to his neck, sucking in a harsh bruise to the left of his Adam's apple. “I think I could live off the taste of you forever.” 

“Šūdas,” Hannibal hisses as Will grips him through his dress pants, and Will knows enough Lithuanian to know that’s not a word Hannibal would approve of in most circumstances. Will smiles and releases him, curling himself inwards so he can fit into the crux of Hannibal’s broad form. They lie there in tranquility for a while, Hannibal’s fluttering strokes along Will’s waist and Will littering kisses along Hannibal’s jawline. Hannibal is finally the one to break the silence when he buries his face into Will’s hair and whispers, so quietly that if Will wasn’t silently memorizing Hannibal’s every move he might have missed it: “Come, my angel. Let us go prepare our feast.”


	2. Prompt #14: Will wakes up in the middle of the night. Hard.

You haven’t the faintest idea in the world what time it is. There’s no sun streaming through your peach chiffon curtains, no bird chirps that make you want to bury your head under your pillow, and no Will humming along to his classic rock radio station while he bustles about the kitchen, making a fresh pot of coffee and a bagel for you to take to work. No, Will is instead lying right behind you in his typical big-spoon position, and he’s shaking you awake.

“‘What’s wrong?,” you manage, rubbing your eyes open as you turn to face him. You’re waiting for some sort of explanation as to what could possibly justify waking you up at this wretched hour - none of the dogs are awake, the apartment isn’t on fire, and from the look on his face he didn’t have a nightmare. He answers by slowly kissing into your neck, snaking his arms around your waist and that’s when you feel it: his erection straining against his boxers, finally getting some much-needed friction as he slowly grinds himself into the side of your thigh. 

“Need you,” he gasps, his voice hoarse with sleep. He groans as he starts to speed up, rubbing himself more and more aggressively into you in response to your lack of support. 

“No.” You retort, obviously quite unconvincingly based on Will’s laugh into your hair. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you against him as hard as he can. Will always thought of the world as a deep, murky ocean that he never knew how to navigate - until a dazzling lifeboat in the form of you waltzed into his life. He’d never tell you that, though. He’d never know how to say it quite right. 

“I was dreaming about you,” he muttered, releasing you from his bear hug as he kept up his grinding motions into your leg. You sighed, pretending he was bothering you when both of you knew all too well that he never ever could. You looked over your shoulder at him with phoney contempt, trying your absolute best to make him very aware of how annoyed you were at being woken up at a stupid time for a stupid reason. 

“Tell me what happened,” you whisper, breathlessly, and definitely nowhere near as annoyed as you meant to make your voice sound. You can’t tell if his arousal is contagious or if the heavy feeling in your eyelids is just from the fact that it’s approximately 3:52 AM. Either way, your heart rate is steadily intensifying in your chest, and your quickening pulse is becoming increasingly obvious to the desperate man who was half draped over you.

“Hmm,” he groans into your shoulder, sighing against your skin as he finds a comfortable rhythm against your thigh. “You were kissing me against a wall,” he pants, gripping your hip tighter as he ruts into you. “And y-you were, fi-fingering me,” he barely chokes back a moan on that last part, his open mouth rests against your neck as he keeps grinding, desperate to relieve himself in any way he can. Your original fatigue is fading quickly into pure lust, his hot breath on your neck making it incredibly difficult to feign annoyance. 

“What else?” You ask, genuinely curious as you begin to stroke his hair, starting to move your leg in sync with his hips to try and help him get a little more friction. He whines, a high pitched desperate sound. It’s so pretty and distressed that you want nothing more than to take all of him in your arms, make him feel so fucking good until he collapses, but you don’t. You make him wait. 

“God, baby, you were...you were kissing my neck, you were, fuck, I-I can’t remember.” His eyes are screwed shut, his breaths getting more and more erratic, his movements into your side more forceful. Both of his hands are on your waist, his face buried into your neck as he uses your bare leg to help himself chase his release, to make himself feel like you did in his head. You’re past the point of tired now, he has you wrapped around his finger and he knows it. All he needs to do is ask, and you’ll be all over him - but he loves when you make him beg. 

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” you whisper, and it’s so quiet that if his ear wasn’t millimetres from your lips he would’ve missed it. You turn your face to look at him, barely making out his creased eyebrows, the thin layer of sweat on his forehead illuminated by the ruby red light of his alarm clock. Even in the dark room, the hazy heavy air of the summer night, it’s so painstakingly obvious how beautiful he is. You hug him closer to you, your leg moving faster now as his arms wrap around you even tighter. He has a habit of forgetting his strength, and you’re beginning to feel a little winded, but you’d rather stop breathing entirely then ever have to let go of Will Graham. 

“I want you,” he gulps, his movements getting flimsy as he gets closer and closer to the edge. “I want you to do...I want you to do what you did…” He trails off, moaning into you as he rubs himself against you, nearly there. “To do what you did in my dream.” You tighten your hold on his shoulder, bending down to kiss his hair as you writhe against him, anxious for him to finish so you can get on with your plans. 

“Ask nicely,” you say softly, pushing him up slightly so you can switch positions, lying on your stomach, now resting a hip over him entirely to allow him to thrust up into your leg. You’re lying with your faces touching now, and you draw a finger across his cheek as he stares at you, mouth agape as your leg keeps moving, his grinding reaching its end. He lets out a guttural moan as he finally cums underneath you, gingerly bringing his hands from off of your leg, turning to tangle his fingers in your hair.

“Please, angel,” he begs, with such sincerity it almost makes you want to cry. You cup his face in your hands, planting a kiss on his forehead so delicate it’s as if you think anything stronger would break him into a million pieces of fractured porcelain. You just nod in response, shifting over the mattress to reach into your bedside drawer, taking out the cotton candy colored lube bottle that lived there. 

You move down the bed, carefully pulling the blankets off of Will as you do so. He pulls off his own boxers before you reach for them, waiting in agonized anticipation of whatever you’re going to do to him. You bend down, kissing his soft thighs, licking the mess off of his perfect stomach. He hums in content, sighing as he runs his fingers through your hair as you begin to coat your fingers in the candy scented slippery substance, circling tantalizingly before slowly pushing in your index finger. He writhes beneath you, his grip on your hair tightening. “More, please, you don’t need to be careful ju-just more.” He pleads, his head arching back into the headboard as he loosens his grip on you, constantly making sure you’re never in any semblance of discomfort. You comply wordlessly, at this point too completely enraptured by his perfection to make him ask for anything else. 

You add a second finger inside him, and when you’re met with desperate whines and thrusts and no complaints, you add a third. You move your head upwards, licking lazily around the base of his cock before taking all of him into your mouth, and he lets out a noise that’s best described as a squeal. He clenches around your fingers as you continue to thrust them in and out, keeping him moving in and out of your throat. He whimpers below you, one hand is holding your hair out of your face while the other sits behind him on the headboard, digging his nails into the wood as he feels the pressure beginning to build inside him once again.

“Darling I’m, fuck I’m not gonna last long.” He pants, his chest heaving as you continue to work your fingers in and out of him, his cock hitting the back of your throat as you take more of him in your mouth. “Oh my god”, he whines, and it’s unclear whether that’s to you or to the ceiling or if this experience has truly caused him to establish contact with the divine. He grips your hair tighter and you feel him twitching in your mouth as your fingers start to move quicker in and out of him, more forceful. He’s struggling underneath you, thrashing at your touch while simultaneously holding you closer against him. 

Suddenly, he’s crying out your name underneath him, waves of pleasure and overstimulation rocking his entire body as he cums in your mouth, the salty sweet remnants of his orgasm depositing themselves down your throat. He’s trembling as you slowly let him fall out of your mouth, gently removing your fingers from inside him. You bury your head into the side of his neck, stroking his chest as he recovers from the ecstasy. He lets out a low chuckle as he kisses your hair, holding you closer to his warm body. You let your hands wander up his neck, tilting his chin down so he meets your lips in a slow, smiley kiss. It’s not like his often needy, animalistic kisses that are all teeth and tongue and hands all over you. No, the only way to describe when he kisses you like this - when he’s grinning like an idiot, his arms encircling you like a ceremonial wreath, your hands unable to stop themselves from caressing the constellation of stubble across his jaw - is nothing but perfect, unyielding love.


	3. Prompt #25: Will comes home with blood on his hands. Literally.

Ellie was whining at the door for the third time tonight, and you understood exactly how she felt. 

It must be hard for a dog when their person leaves. If every year is seven for them, every minute must be dozens. Hundreds, maybe. You never really understood why every single day they cried at the door, pacing around the house like a withering mother waiting to receive a “lost in battle” telegram. It just never made sense to you how a creature could be that attached, become that distraught at separation for such a short time. 

As you spent more time around the dogs, (against your will at first, but nonetheless) you started to get it. You picked up on their emotional cues and needs and finally realized that they’re bonded to their masters for LIFE. They’re all they really know, their presence is all they really need. Their scent is comfort, their embrace satisfying for every single necessity and desire. You remember the first time you realized that you felt exactly the same way about their master as they did.

As Winston began to join in with the whining, you felt desperately compelled to go sit at the door to cry too. Every second he wasn’t here, every minute you had to spend in agonizing apprehension, felt as if it were a hundred years. As if you were underwater with no way out. His absence physically hurt, the emptiness of the house felt suffocating. An empty shell waiting for the heart to come back and beat again. 

Dr. Lecter had once told the two of you that your codependency had “reached a level of genuine concern”, but neither of you saw any reason to do anything about that if you never planned to live without the other in the first place. You’d been jaded for what felt like centuries, kept your guard up just in case - but the first time you saw him you knew you’d never want to look at another face again. Why would you?

Tonight was especially bad. He was gone a lot, field work and guest lectures at other schools, but it was nights like these that hit you the hardest. When you knew that he and Hannibal were killing tonight. When it was four in the morning and you didn’t know if he would make it back alive. When you didn’t know if Hannibal had forgotten to drug Alana, forgot to invite her over for an alibi. When you didn’t know if Jack suspected them.

Just when you thought you couldn’t possibly take it for another second, you heard the rumble of Will’s old engine that he refused to get repaired. The dogs leaped at the sound, clambering over each other to get to the door, to be first in line to receive his affection. You heard some thumping noises from the driveway, the small beep of the car locking, and footsteps that were trying not to be too loud crunching on the gravel. 

“Hey everyone,” he beamed, bending down to give some forehead kisses to the dogs. But today there were no pets or ear scratches or belly rubs. You furrowed your eyebrows, climbing off your perch on the bed to see what it was that he was holding that would prevent him from touching the dogs. You shouldn’t have been surprised at the thin layer of dried blood that coated them - covering him like armour. 

He drifted towards you, taking your face in his hands lightly, kissing down the column of your throat. You would have asked him about the kill right away but you waited a little longer. You wanted the feeling of the two of you reuniting to last a lifetime. “Last week,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he continued kissing down your neck, unbuttoning your silky pyjama shirt as he went along, “that guy at the bar was hitting on you, remember?” You nod, vaguely recalling the inebriated boy who’d made some comment last weekend. It hadn’t phased you in the slightest. He nodded again, his fingers dancing across your collarbone as he peeled your bra off. “I killed him.” 

You laughed mirthlessly and thought about how different your reaction to his confession would’ve once been. You held him against your bare chest, sliding a hand up his sweaty t-shirt and drawing light circles on his back like you knew he loved, admiring how beautiful he looked lying in your arms. He readjusted himself to take off his shirt and nestled back into your neck, wrapping his bare arms around you. He sighed into your skin and licked a small stripe along your neck, savouring the taste of you as if it were his last meal. “You must’ve really missed me if you’re still awake, huh baby?” He asked with a smile, kissing down your torso and stopping at your nipples to bite them a little, rolling them with his tongue and loving the way it made you squirm beneath him. 

“Yeah, I, yeah fuck I missed you.” You whined as he continued kissing down, nipping at the waistband of the Calvin Klein boxers you’d stolen from him that were lying low on your hips. You lifted your pelvis up off the bed so he could easier pull them down, tugging them off of your ankles and discarding them somewhere across the room. You reached out to run a hand through his hair and push back the bangs that always dusted his brow. He lifted his head up, coming towards you to meet your face with a soft kiss. You sighed into it, his oaky smell and the faint coppery one were mixing together in a sickly sweet scent that you wanted to try. “Will,” you whispered, not fully in control of your thoughts, “can I taste him?” 

His slight expression of awe quickly crumbled into one of passion, of animalistic lust, as he reached up a hand and stuck two fingers within the velvety envelope of your mouth. His mouth fell open as you sucked on them eagerly, making direct eye contact with him as you cleaned the blood off of his fingers. You were fucking his hand with your mouth, suckling and licking every ounce of evidence of his work, showing him how much his art of death was appreciated by you. He bit his lip as he watched you, slowly trailing down your leg with his other hand. 

“That man wanted to be inside you,” Will mused, circling your entrance with his thumb on his free hand. “I think I can make that happen.” His eyes turned from sweet sky blue to charcoal, as he watched his blood covered fingers disappear in you. You nearly choked on his hand as you felt his delicate strokes inside, his free hand moving in and out, thrusting slowly and increasing speed. You let his fingers fall out of your mouth and grabbed his shoulder as he continued to fuck you with his hand. The hand that had just been in your mouth was cupping the side of your face, gripping onto you as his tongue entered through the gates of your lips, tasting his victim in your desperate mouth. 

Your breathing was getting faster, your pleas into his mouth more frequent as you sucked on his bottom lip, his hand still pumping inside of you. He moaned against you at the sight of your hand joining his, pleasuring yourself as his fingers relentlessly kept their pace. You could feel yourself losing orientation, your vision beginning to blur as his fingers kept going, your own movements aiding in the crest of your orgasm. You finally cried out and bit down onto Will’s lip as you came, clenching around his fingers that were slowly ceasing their movements. You were panting, your heart racing a million miles a minute as you came down from your high, your eyes never leaving his as you slowly leaned back against the cushions. 

He stared right into you as he slowly removed his fingers, now covered in a mix of your cum and his victims blood, and sank them into his mouth. He closed his eyes, moaning at the taste of love and the taste of death dancing in a paradoxical embrace on his tongue. You pulled him down onto you, shoving his perfect mouth against you to taste the mixture. “My angel,” he whispered, his hands wandering your torso as you tasted his mouth, wondering how in the world such a beautiful love could come to be. The two of you rolled around on the bed, giggling at your complete entanglement, while he silently asked himself the exact same question.


	4. Prompt #26: Hannibal comes home from a trip

You missed him. You missed him so much and all you had thought about for the last week is what you would do when he came home, but now that the day had finally come you almost wished he was still gone. Not that you didn’t want to see him, of course you did, but you were afraid of what your reunion would be like. How he would act. You were scared he’d be the way he always is; calm, cool, and way too fucking collected. Never a hair out of place, never a single emotion not in check. 

Sometimes you wished he would lose it in front of you, let you see what’s beneath the mask of perfection. You wanted him to be happy when he saw you but not just his regular kind of happy; childish, giddy, excitement like what you felt around him. You were terrified his reaction would be far too subdued and you wouldn’t even feel like you were missed at all. 

It’s so hard to explain wanting more from Hannibal. He was everything. Never a wrong step, never a joke that went too far. Always on time, always polite, always perfect. You were starting to hate it and you thought it was making you start to hate him, too. You needed him to let everything go in front of you, to lose his fucking mind. You wanted tears, laughter, even uncontrollable fucking rage, you didn’t care. You just needed something. Anything. 

You broke out of your daze at the sound of the Bentley locking in the driveway, the squeaky clean heels of his perfectly polished dress shoes click-clacking on the cement up to the doorway. He didn’t even get the key all the way into the lock before you were ripping open his mahogany door and launching yourself at him. 

He took a couple of steps back, laughing into your hair as he wrapped his arms around your torso and hugging you even closer to his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and inhaled slightly. You let him go, pulling him into the house and kicking the door shut before quickly attaching yourself to him again. “My darling, what has gotten into you?” He mused, dropping his luggage in the hallway and walking the two of you up the stairs. 

“I missed you,” you said quietly, clinging to his dress shirt while you walked. You were so nervous. Nervous that he’d stay all smirky and narcissistic and not show you his actual emotions. Usually Hannibal’s demeanor never phased you, in fact it was one of the things that made you fall in love with him in the very first place. But after being separated for a week, one hundred and sixty eight unbearable hours without him, you were desperate. You needed to see that your absence affected him as much as his affected you. You needed reassurance. 

“And I you, my angel.” It felt like it meant nothing. You could feel his heart under his shirt, the same pace it always beats. His strong arms held you in place but there was no yearning for your skin, no eager excitement to be near you once again. He set you down on your bed, kissing the top of your forehead before pulling back to look at you. “What’s wrong?” he whispered softly, but it wasn’t asked like a question. His words held a specific weight to them that you didn’t know how to place, and your throat suddenly felt like sandpaper.

“Hannibal, I,” you pushed yourself up on the bed and he sat down beside you, holding your hands in his and nodding with silent encouragement. “I just want to see how you feel,” you admitted, and your brain was too clouded with him and how much you missed his arms around you to put any effort into the coherency of your words. “You always seem so unphased by everything, but I want to see everything you feel. I want to share all your emotions with you, I want to cry when you’re sad and laugh when you’re happy but I can never fucking tell what’s going through your head.” Your face was red now. You were embarrassed. The last thing you wanted was to upset him, but you didn’t know how to phrase any of it right. “You were gone for eight days, you were so busy and we barely spoke. Now you’re back and it feels like it doesn’t matter to you. Like being away from me didn’t affect you at all.” 

You looked up to see tears threatening to pool out of his eyes, his grip on your hands becoming stronger. He took a deep breath, ensuring his composure. Poised, elegant, serene. “I deliberately attempt to conceal the...obscene depths of my love for you. If I am to reveal to you the extent of my emotions, I shall no longer be able to hide anything from you any longer.” His words were so carefully crafted, even his breathing felt deliberately paced. “If I am to show you everything, my love…” He was staring at your hands folded together that lay on your knee. “You must promise me you will not run.” 

You shook your head adamantly, tears flowing from your eyes that you didn’t even know were gathering there. You bent your head down and pressed a kiss to your interlaced fingers. “I will never, ever, leave.” You whispered. Your voice was starting to fail you, the intensity in his eyes was robbing you of all logic, all autonomy. He averted his gaze from you and looked at the rug beside your bed, a highly unusual act for Hannibal who never struggled with eye contact or any form of difficult conversation.

“I think you’ll find that certain revelations will change your mind,” he muttered in a slightly bitter tone. He cleared his throat, looking back towards you with an air of authority behind his eyes. “Darling there is a choice that you must make.” He said with strength, with certainty. “I shall either continue to carry my reservations, we will be perfectly content and go about our life the way we always have. Or, I shall reveal everything to you. Not just my insatiable love for you but my other...desires. Everything. It is up to you which path you believe will be the best course for the two of us to pursue.” 

You took a breath, looking up to the ceiling in earnest as if the vaulted beams would give you the right answer. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second before exhaling, letting all of the tension melt off of your chest and your shoulders. “I want everything.” You spoke with conviction. More than was typical of you. “Hannibal I don’t care what it is that you’re scared of me finding out, I don’t care. You can tell me about all of it later and I promise that I’ll listen but right now I just want to know that you love me.”

The expression on his face contorted from one of guarded anticipation to one of, not quite relief, but pride. He let go of your hands and gathered you in his arms, pulling you onto him so that you were straddling his lap. He looked up at you with such adoration and sheer revarance, it almost made your head spin just attempting to process the emotion that was radiating off of him in waves. “I missed you every second I was gone,” he panted, unbuttoning his shirt. “Every night I thought about you laying there next to me. What your hands would do. What I would do.” You groaned into his now bare chest. 

“Show me what you thought about.”

He inhaled, slowly, and he almost looked like he was trembling slightly. You could sense the massive tension that’d been lifted off of him with your pledge to always stay, and the more you looked at him the more you genuinely believed what you’d said to him. It didn’t matter what he was hiding. It didn’t matter what he’d done in his past, and it didn’t matter what he planned to do with his future - as long as you were a part of it. You moved slowly, taking your time with your clothes and his. You had nowhere to be but with him. 

“I thought about this,” he whispered, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and rolling it around with his tongue, pinching the other one with his hand. Once he had you squirming underneath him he moved down your torso, leaving love bites and bruises as he went alone. “I thought about this,” he sighed as he sucked an especially harsh bruise into your inner thigh. He let out a noise of surprise as you pushed him off of you, climbing over him so that you were sitting with your knees on either side of his legs, kissing along his jawline until you made it to his waist. You started going slower, taking all the time in the world kissing around the base of his cock, never actually touching him where he needed it the most. He was starting to get restless, impatient, and the thought that the ever dignified Hannibal Lecter could come apart beneath you like this was enough to send a surge of arousal through your entire body. 

“Did you think about this?” You asked looking up at him with lust blown eyes, taking him in your hand and stroking him up and down before slowly lowering your mouth down onto him, keeping eye contact all the while. He groaned, leaning his head back and nodding as he raked a hand through your hair. As you kept your pace, you started to slowly finger yourself with your other hand, stretching yourself open and getting ready for him. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sight of you with one hand inside yourself and the other steadying his cock while you took it down your throat. 

He gently pushed you off of him when he started to get close, pulling you forwards to meet his lips in a searing kiss. He kept one hand on your face, pressing into his while his other hand settled on your hip and guided himself into you. Your breath caught as he slowly pushed inside, the two of you moaning into each other’s mouths as he filled you. He started to guide you up and down, keeping his lips on yours as he continued to fuck into you while pushing you onto your back. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he continued, one hand on your neck while the other was grabbing at your chest, feeling everywhere on you that he could. You could tell as soon as his thrusts became a little more sharply angled, a little more powerful, that you weren’t going to last long at all. Eight days without his hands on you had nearly driven you to insanity, and now he was everywhere, all consuming. 

“Hannibal”, you choked out, digging your nails into his shoulder and arching your back against the mattress. “I’m so, I’m so…”

“Ssh, darling.” He whispered, his hips snapping against you fiercely. “You’re doing so good for me.” You whimpered at his words, your face pressing into the sheets as you felt yourself reaching the tipping point. His hands, his lips, his cock, his voice, it was all too much until you were coming apart beneath him. You cried out his name as he fucked you through your orgasm until he was collapsing on top of you, shaking and gasping for breath. You lay on the bed that way for what felt like hours. Stroking a hand absentmindedly down his back with his head buried into your neck, his still half hard cock resting inside of you. After your rest you eventually sat upon him once more, riding him until he was seeing white and crying out praises that sounded like prayers. 

When you woke in the morning you woke in his arms, safe and warm, knowing you’d made the right decision. He’d never steer you wrong.


	5. Prompt #10: Possessive!Will with Hannibal

Over ten years of knowing the man and coming up on three being married to him, Will still couldn’t get into museums the way Hannibal did. 

Last year when the two of them were still living in Belgium, Hannibal had been courteous enough to go with Will to as many football games as he liked - so Will knew he was in no position to turn Hannibal down for a night at the musée Marc-Chagall. Will didn’t even mind Hannibal’s friends in Nice, in fact, he dared say he sort of liked the crowd of retired academics that Hannibal had taken company with while they lived in the South of France. Unfortunately the company didn’t change the boringness of the venue, and Will truly couldn’t bring himself to be able to appreciate art at the same level Hannibal did. He was never one for crying at operas, or taking out a sketchbook to furiously trace the outlines of a particularly delectable art piece. He was happy leaving those traits to his husband. 

Regardless, he’d never say no to one of Hannibal’s outings. He knew that no matter where in the world they lived, Hannibal had an insatiable need to be one of the social elite - a feat that was never difficult to accomplish for a man who looked and sounded the way that Hannibal did. He had a natural magnetism to him, intelligence and charm that radiated off of him in waves that ensured he could always find his way to the top of the social ladder. 

So tonight, Will found himself struggling with the bowtie of another custom tailored suit that Hannibal had picked out for him back in Florence, where they’d ran to after they recovered in Cuba - to immediately get married at the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, no less. Will smiled at the memory, tucking his perfectly ironed dress shirt into his slacks. He ran his hand under the tap for a moment before slicking his hair back out of his eyes. He always felt a little self conscious around Hannibal in the first place - and his feelings of inadequacy only grew when they were surrounded by people who were just like Hannibal - so he always felt the need to look extra ‘presentable’ when the two of them went out to a fancy event like this. He’d even shaved his slight stubble earlier, which Hannibal knew meant he was taking it seriously. 

“You look perfect, mylimasis.” Hannibal smiled as he strode into the bathroom as if he could read Will’s mind, wrapping an arm around his waist and planting a delicate kiss on his cheek. Will’s face flushed a little at the compliment as he turned around to face Hannibal. He was wearing a deep, plum colored three piece suit - made to measure, of course. His silver and brown hair was swept back, his wrist adorned with the ridiculously expensive Cartier watch that Will had managed to swipe from a jeweler for a Christmas present. He knew the two of them had more than enough money for material goods, but Will had discovered that not only was stealing just more fun, he was exceptionally good at it as well. Will ran a hand along Hannibal’s cheekbone, cupping his face lightly before kissing him as gently as he could. Any more force and he knew Hannibal would end up cancelling their evening to tear apart their couture tuxedos. 

“Ready to go?” Will hummed, taking one of Hannibal’s hands in his to adjust the Hermès cufflinks that adorned his wrists. Hannibal nodded, ushering Will out of the house while he locked the doors behind them, triple checking that all the windows were bolted shut. An obsessive but necessary nightly ritual. 

The cab ride there was quiet but peaceful. Hannibal leaned against the window pane with his fingers laced through Will’s, memorizing the scenery of the gorgeous Côte d'Azur - presumably to sketch it all so he could look back on the memories the next time he deemed it necessary that the two of them pack up and move. It was a place he’d travelled when he was younger and since he fell in love with Will he’d wanted to take him here. He always thought Will was better suited to coastal life than cities, and the tan he’d acquired from the southern sun had certainly been proving Hannibal’s hypothesis. Bustling city life was too stressful for Will, too disjointed and overstimulating. He was always so much more relaxed in hidden hillside chalets or quiet ocean view beach houses, and while Hannibal had always understood the appeal of big cities like London and Rome, seeing Will at peace was the only thing that brought him true serenity.

Upon arrival Will handsomely tipped the cab driver and dashed out of the vehicle to hold Hannibal’s door open. He smiled up at Will, taking his hand and stepping out of the cab gingerly as to not wrinkle his suit that was pressed to perfection. The two of them strode in arm and arm, Will laughing at Hannibal’s judgemental comments about everyone around them. As they meandered through the touring exhibit, Will couldn’t be bothered to look at any of the pieces. He was far too busy grinning at Hannibal’s pleased expression, feeling such joy at the sight of his husband being able to enjoy such a mundane experience free of fear, free of guilt, free. More than once Hannibal had caught Will’s enraptured gaze and dove in for a kiss that was far too much PDA than Will would have once condoned, but he had no inhibitions anymore. No reasons to keep his guard up. 

Will’s cheery mood was dwindling fast as his least part of the evening was steadily approaching; mingling. While it may have been true that he genuinely enjoyed the company of Hannibal’s snobby French friends to a certain degree, he enjoyed the company of just Hannibal far more. Plus, it always bothered him having to address Hannibal by another name in front of others. ‘Hannibal’ was the only word he ever wanted to be able to say for the rest of his life, any other name in his mouth felt alien. 

“Monsieur Carbonneau et Monsieur Auclair, bonsoir!" Hannibal’s friend Eloise called to the pair from the centre of the crowded floor. Will silently braced himself for conversation as they made their way over to her and Hannibal’s gaggle of academics. 

“Madame Dupont, you look divine as usual.” Hannibal smirked, bending down to kiss Eloise’s white gloved hand. She smiled, batting her arm at Hannibal flirtatiously. “So, do tell me Eloise, did you find the third rendition of Gauguin’s exhibition more compelling than the second? The last time I saw his work I was just a young man in Barcelona, travelling with some university companions…” Will tuned out Hannibal’s voice as he scanned the room for one of Hannibal’s friends that didn’t speak like an encyclopedia. 

“Hugo!” Will exclaimed, grinning at the sight of Professor Lavoie, a fascinating older man who’d retired recently from his position as a philosophy professor at PSL Research University Paris. He was someone Will actually liked talking to, and they’d had some riveting conversations about behavioural psychology in the past. 

“Edmund, my boy.” Hugo grinned at Will. It took active physical restraint on Will’s part to not show any signs of discomfort with his current fake identity being used. “How did you find the Gauguin pieces this evening?” Will began to chat away with Professor Lavoie about how Gauguin’s art reminded him of an allegory in Plato’s Republic, having a perfectly pleasant conversation - until he noticed Hannibal waltzing with Eloise out of the corner of his eye. His lips continued to go on about how Plato’s influence on Aristotle had manifested itself in Aristotilian teleology, but his eyes were as sharp as daggers. Their cover included being a married couple, but of course that didn’t get in the way of nearly everyone who came in contact with Hannibal - or rather ‘Monsieur Desmond Auclair’ - wanting to throw themselves at him. 

“If you’ll excuse me, professor.” Will smiled politely, shaking Hugo’s hand after he’d finished his little philosophical ramble. He wasn’t quite sure why he was so bothered today, it wasn’t like he’d never seen people flirting with Hannibal before, in fact it was a rarer occurrence to see someone who didn’t flirt with Hannibal. Nonetheless, Eloise was really bothering him tonight - made evident by Will’s beeline towards the dancing pair. “Madame Dupont,” Will said with a forced smile, resting a hand on the small of her back. “May I cut in?” She made a pouty face of feigned disappointment at Will before breaking into a smile, departing from the two with a kiss on both of Hannibal’s cheeks and a squeeze of Will’s hand. Will encircled his arms around Hannibal’s waist with a huff as Hannibal’s hands made their way to Will’s shoulders. 

“Is everything quite alright, darling?” Hannibal asked with an amused smile. Will’s jealous face was one that appeared much more often than Will thought it did, often enough that Hannibal could spot it a mile away and often enough that Hannibal knew as soon as he began speaking to Eloise it would emerge - and emerge it did. Hannibal laughed a deep, booming laugh at Will’s pouty little frown that was far less threatening than Will thought it was. 

“Don’t laugh,” Will smiled, trying to feign anger but failing miserably now that he was in Hannibal’s arms. “Couldn’t you tell how flirty she was being with you, you idiot?” Will lay his head on Hannibal’s chest as the two of them swayed to some classical music piece that he was sure Hannibal knew every single detail about.

“I find Madame Dupont’s advances...rather endearing.” Hannibal smirked, massaging Will’s shoulders slightly where his hands lay. Will brought his head up abruptly and took Hannibal’s hand, leading him across the dancefloor. “Will,” Hannibal protested, but to his surprise Will didn’t take them out of the building, rather to the very center of the room. Hannibal raised an eyebrow in surprise, knowing his husband was never one to claim the spotlight. 

“Let’s dance. You lead.” Will said with a note of defiance in his voice, looking up at Hannibal challengingly, his arms raised. Hannibal grinned, taking Will’s hands and placing one on his shoulder, clasping the other in his own. Will gave a nod of agreement, and with that, Hannibal began to whisk the two of them along to the music. 

“I don’t think we’ve ever danced like this in public before,” Hannibal smiled, slightly out of breath already from the fast paced waltz. Will tightened his grip on Hannibal’s shoulder, being careful not to look down and lose his footing. He was in no mood to be embarrassed. 

“Well that’s because I usually don’t want people looking at me,” he retorted. “But I want everyone to see this.” He pushed back on his heel, stopping their rhythmic patterns across the floor to catch Hannibal’s lips with his own, bringing his hand up to his face to bring the two of them even closer together. Hannibal tightened his grasp on Will’s waist, practically attacking his mouth with how much he was deepening their kiss. Eventually, when he felt his point was sufficiently proven, Will pulled back with a smile. Hannibal made that face he did when he was a weird mixture of intrigued, in love, and proud. Which was one he often made at Will. 

“Come, you silly boy,” he said with an air of authority as he took Will’s hand, waving at his crowd of friends as he led the two of them out of the building. He made haste hailing a cab in the warm, ocean scented air. As soon as they were in the taxi Hannibal’s usual manners seemed to have mysteriously left him. He threw far too large a bill at the driver so he wouldn’t need to pay later, and immediately began pushing Will up against the car door, pinning him against the window as Will gasped and pleaded. Their hands were everywhere except where they most needed to be. After what felt like years, but was likely more comparable to about twelve minutes, the two men launched themselves out of the cab, nearly falling over each other in their pathetically desperate attempt to get up the stairs to their penthouse. 

Will laughed at Hannibal’s disheveled state by the time they’d gotten in the door. The ever polished Hannibal Lecter with his dress shirt untucked, half unbuttoned, his lips swollen and his hair a mess. Hannibal made a very serious ‘don’t laugh at me’ face that only made Will laugh harder, but his laughs soon turned to yells as Hannibal picked him up and carried him over his shoulder to their room. Hannibal tossed Will down on the bed and climbed over him, ripping apart his beautifully tailored suit just like Will knew he was going to. The look in Hannibal’s eyes knocked all of the laughter out of him, now he just sat there in anticipation of Hannibal’s next move.   
“What would you like, darling?” Hannibal asked as he quickly did away with Will’s clothing, tossing his dress pants and boxers to the ground beside their bed. He kissed Will’s partially exposed chest, deliberately leaving the white dress shirt on him because he loved the way it looked. Will got Hannibal’s clothes off and directed him to lie down in front of him. 

“I want to teach you a lesson.” Will grunted as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, adjusting himself so that his knees were on either side of Hannibal’s torso. “You always say to me, “Will you’re all mine” and shit like that. Always getting so jealous when I even look at anyone.” He rambled, letting his hands wander across Hannibal’s chest, rolling his nipples in between his fingers. “But when it’s you, you act like you’re allowed. Oh I’m Hannibal Lecter, everyone is just obsessed with me, they can’t help it.” Hannibal had been trying to contain his laughter up until this point, but that last comment really got him. He held a pillow over his own face, not wanting Will to see the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes from laughing too hard. “I should be allowed to get jealous too! It’s not fair you get to be so jealous of everyone I look at all the time and I have to pretend that everyone we meet being in love with you doesn’t bother me.” Will huffed, a tinge of real annoyance in his voice. 

“Oh, darling,” Hannibal sighed, taking the pillow off of his face and wiping his eyes. “You are more than welcome to your jealousy. I think you’re right, there truly is a lesson that must be learned from this whole ordeal,” he smirked. Will was having an internal struggle, not knowing whether to let himself be affected by Hannibal’s smile, or whether to smack it off of him. He chose the latter. “Ow!” Hannibal exclaimed, having expected to be fucked, not smacked across the face with a pillow.

“Will you just shut up. Just for five minutes. Shut up.” Will said in his best authoritative voice, which worked notoriously poorly on Hannibal. Nonetheless, Hannibal nodded with a smile, wanting Will to get on with the lesson he was supposedly going to teach him. Will exhaled slowly as he took the tube of lubricant off of their bedside table, getting quickly to work with entering two fingers in Hannibal while he coated himself with his other hand. Hannibal waved a hand in dismissal, as if to say ‘don’t bother’. Will didn’t need any further persuasion. He lined himself with Hannibal, resting one hand on the headboard as he slowly pushed all the way in. 

“Don’t go, don’t go slow.” Hannibal panted underneath him, and Will was too bored of pretending to be angry to deny him any longer. He started to move, snapping his hips against Hannibal ruthlessly, without a single care whether it hurt him or not. Hannibal loved when Will took control, it made him feel desired and wanted by the only person in the world who’s object of desire he wanted to be. Will thrusted sharply upwards, knowing exactly what spot to hit to have Hannibal falling into a million pieces beneath him, and it worked. He closed his eyes, drinking in the sounds of Hannibal’s begging and praises. He’d never admit it to Hannibal because he knew it’d go straight to his enormous ego, but Will’s largest point of pride was that he was the only one who could make Hannibal squirm like this. The only one who could make him beg and plea and whine like a desperate slut. 

The two of them had reached a perfect rhythm, moving in flawless unison like they were two halves of a single entity. Hannibal reached up to brush the hair out of Will’s eyes as he bent down to press a fervish kiss to Hannibal’s lips, cupping his chin with his free hand as he continued his movements. The moan Hannibal sighed into the kiss sent a jolt through Will’s spine, causing him to move with even more urgency. “Hannibal, I’m-”

“I know.” He answered, his eyes squeezed shut. Hannibal grabbed Will’s shoulder and flipped them over so that Will was beneath him, his legs on either side of Will’s waist. Hannibal lifted himself up and down on Will’s length, letting his head fall back in ecstasy. This was far from the lesson-teaching that Will had in mind, but Hannibal just looked so fucking perfect there was nothing he could do about it. Will placed his hands on Hannibal’s hips, guiding him until their stomachs were coated in cum, both of them breathing heavily and slightly shaky. 

When Will returned with a washcloth from the bathroom Hannibal had nearly fallen asleep already. He blinked with drowsiness as Will cleaned up the mess on his stomach, pressing kisses to his bare shoulder as he did so. Once Will was finished with himself, he threw the towel in the bin and climbed into bed, his white dress shirt still clinging to his sweaty torso. Hannibal curved inwards, nestling into Will’s embrace as he slowly began to drift off to sleep. “You know, darling,” Hannibal murmured into his pillow. “I am the Hannibal Lecter. Everyone is, what was it again? Oh right. So obsessed with me all the time.” Will laughed into his back, kissing the small patch of skin on his neck that stuck out above the duvet. 

“I know they are,” Will hummed. “But you’re all mine. Forever.” Hannibal sighed as Will’s arms tightened around his waist, hugging Hannibal even closer to him. 

“Forever,” he agreed, before drifting off to sleep.


	6. Prompt #29: Hannibal’s birthday!!!!

Will went to sleep calm and peaceful on July 31st. On August 1st, he woke up more frantically than he had in nearly a year, since the nightmares had stopped.

Birthday week.

He’d ran out of the house before Hannibal had even awakened which was an extremely rare occurrence, and proof that Will was fucking off his rocker. He’d known Hannibal for probably five of his birthdays, but this was the only one the two of them had ever spent alone together. Back in late February for Will’s fortieth birthday Hannibal had spared no expense. He’d arranged for the two of them to be in Australia where it was summertime, where they swam at Whitehaven beach, went on a luxury snorkel cruise from Cairns, and even went fishing at the great barrier reef. Hannibal had done every single activity alongside Will, smiling and laughing his way through stupid things he’d never do on his own because all he wanted was for Will to be happy - especially on his birthday - which was exactly why Will was about to lose his mind party planning. 

He’d left the house with nowhere to go, using his sketchy German to get a cab downtown to try and decide what could possibly be good enough in Zurich for Hannibal. There were art museums, and guided tours, and enough expensive restaurants to satiate Hannibal for the rest of his life, but he just didn’t know what to pick.

So Will went back to look for the rest of the week. Hannibal knew immediately what he was up to, and was kind enough to ask no questions and refrain from commenting about how the unemployed (and relatively reclusive) younger man had been out of the house every single day for six days in a row. Hannibal had basically slept with one eye open on the warm August 6th evening, given that he felt the compulsive need to control his surroundings at all times but had no idea what Will had planned. Trusting Will with his life and heart had been an oath he was ready to take from the day the two had met, but trusting him with his birthday...that was venturing into uncharted waters. 

To both of their surprise, the beginning portion of August 7th went relatively hiccup-free. Will had woken Hannibal up with sex and subsequent breakfast in bed, before taking him on a private tour of the city on one of those little metal electric scooters that Hannibal always pointed out when they wandered around together. They lunched at Lake Zurich, strolled around the older part of town to admire the architecture arm in arm, and Will had even gotten an exclusive booking at Museum Rietberg so Hannibal could drag him around and play history textbook like he loved to do. They sat on the terrace cafe afterwards and people watched, making up stories about everyone who walked past them just like they used to do to pass the time on Hannibal’s boat last year. Will watched Hannibal’s eyes sparkle in the sunshine as he babbled away about how some woman who’d walked past them was probably a secret Russian spy who was pretending to be a schoolteacher to gain intel on what the Swiss government was teaching children. Hannibal was tempted to call it a perfect day.

But more was coming. He knew more was coming because he could feel the anticipation practically parading off of Will when he came home on August 4th - Hannibal had known then that he had found the perfect gift. But it wouldn’t have been a walk, or sex, or even a private museum tour, he knew it’d be bigger. He just couldn’t guess what on Earth it would be. 

It was around 5 in the evening when Will got them a cab back to the house, taking Hannibal’s hand in his and pressing a kiss to his fingers. Hannibal took Will in his arms, cradling his head and kissing his hair as he whispered small compliments and thank you’s into his messy hair, an arm wrapped around his small body so tightly it was as if he were a lifeboat and Will was drowning. When they’d gotten out of the car, Will stopped Hannibal outside the door of the house, taking both his hands in his own with a deep inhale. 

“I would never even entertain the thought of being half the chef you are,” he started, marvelling at Hannibal’s expression of wrapt curiosity and childlike excitement. “But I wanted to make your birthday dinner as special as I could. I didn’t take you to any fancy restaurants because I know your food is better than anything they’d give us and I obviously wasn’t going to ask you to cook, so I decided the best thing to do was have you instruct me while I make us dinner.” Will smiled a little sheepishly, reaching a hand up to scratch behind his neck like he did when he was embarrassed. 

“What a romantic you are,” Hannibal beamed, squeezing Will’s hands and reaching into his pocket for his house keys. “What are we making, darling?” Will inhaled sharply, his eyes trained on Hannibal as he pushed open the door, wanting to memorize every single second of his reaction to his birthday surprise. 

Hannibal’s breath hitched in his throat, his heartbeat reaching a level Will only heard in Hannibal’s most intimate states; mid-sex, or mid-murder. His reaction was warranted, for in the foyer of their villa sat the rope bound body of Elliot König, a man that Hannibal had wanted dead for a very long time.

“How did you…” Hannibal said when he’d finally regained his usual composure. “How did you know?” He turned to look at Will, and the look in his eyes was better than everything Will had hoped for when he started stalking their victim to track his habits and rituals. He was filled with so much love and adoration and just such absolute unbridled joy that you’d have thought his parents just surprised him with a trip to Disneyland. He reached out a hand to cup Will’s cheek, and Will grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him into his body so he could wrap his arms around his back, rubbing his shoulders while he embraced him. The sound of König’s whimpers only fuelling their fire. 

“I never threw out your rolodex, and I went through it to see if I can track anyone nearby. I got lucky, he was in Montreux for a conference and he’s very predictable.” Will said casually, gently letting go of his grip on Hannibal. “Anyway, dinner will probably take a long time since we have to butcher our pig ourselves.” He grinned, handing Hannibal a knife he’d left beside Elliot’s chair for this exact purpose. Hannibal shook his head with a smile, pushing the weapon back towards Will.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my darling, than to watch you finish what you’ve begun.” He said happily as he took a seat on the bench by their front door. Will hummed in agreement, making his way over to Elliot while he twirled the dagger around between his scarred hands.

“How do you want him?” Will asked quietly, holding the cold blade against König’s throat. Hannibal sighed with a frown, stroking his chin like he was having a hard time deciding between a Big Mac and a McChicken. 

“I think across his throat will do us nicely, mylimasis. I don’t want you to tarnish the meat before I show you how to clean it.” He said decisively, waving his hand at Will as if to say ‘get on with it already’. Will nodded, looking up at Hannibal again to make sure he was watching before he dragged the silver knife across Elliot’s thick neck. Will made his way over to Hannibal, sitting in his lap while they waited in silence for König to die. It took a little longer than Will had expected, Elliot certainly put up a fight - a futile one nonetheless. He flailed around in his tied up position on the chair, eventually knocking himself onto the ground which Hannibal found unbearably funny. The two of them made some lude comments comparing Elliot to a turtle on its back before the sounds of his ragged breaths eventually faded into the night. 

Will had watched Hannibal prepare bodies a hundred times, but doing it himself with Hannibal’s instruction was an entirely new experience. He discovered a newfound respect for Hannibal as he laboured over Elliot’s body, skinning, slicing, gutting. It was certainly a difficult task, but nothing Will wasn’t more than prepared for, and the absolute glee that was radiating off of Hannibal like sunbeams made the gorey mess all the more enjoyable. 

“Okay, I’ve got to figure the rest out on my own. You’ve done too much work, I promise I can take it from here.” Will smiled, ushering Hannibal out of the kitchen. Hannibal left with feigned annoyance, busying himself with the television while Will clambered noisily about in the kitchen. If Will was being completely honest, he had no fucking idea what he was doing. He found salvation in the fact that Hannibal ensured his cherished recipe books survived every move the two of them needed to make.

The insanely heavy binders faded beige pages were each handwritten in Hannibal’s flawless script, culinary love letters delving into the most precise details about what the chef needed to do in order to prepare each individual dish. They had the ingredients to make absolutely anything in this novel of a cookbook, but Will needed to make sure he made the right one. This was a test in it’s own right, an assessment to see if Will would pick something romantic enough, celebratory enough. He pored over the pages, torn between choosing what he thought would be easiest to make, and picking something Hannibal would be sufficiently impressed with. He rolled his eyes at himself for choosing the latter, selecting beef tartare for an appetizer and almond-crusted loin with red wine raisins as their entree. 

Hannibal had time to finish the entirety of the silly psychological thriller that he’d recorded the other day while he waited for Will to finish their food, and as much as he adored how much effort Will had put into his birthday surprise, nothing made him happier than cooking for people he loved. Hannibal had two love languages, and Will was speaking both to him tonight - food and felonies. Once his movie was over Hannibal went about setting up the dining room table, and once again offering his expertise in the kitchen only to be scolded out by Will. He milled about in the living room, tidying up spots that were already flawlessly organized until he absolutely couldn’t take it anymore. He was so bored he thought he might actually die. 

“Will,” he called into the kitchen, not daring to actually enter out of fear of being beaten to death with a frying pan. “Darling, how much longer do you think you’ll be?” Will stepped out from the pantry with a glare, fussing about with his minced meat that Hannibal recognized immediately as the mid stages of a tartare. 

“Go finish that episode of Love Island and I’ll be done, I swear.” Will insisted, brushing past Hannibal as he reached for his ingredients across the island. Hannibal intercepted him, grabbing him by his belt loops and pulling him right up against his torso, breathing in the scents of Will and food and blood. 

“Surely there must be something I can do, be of use to the chef.” Hannibal said in a hushed voice, slowly making his way onto his knees. Will’s groaned, attempting to free himself of Hannibal’s grasp but he knew it was no use. “By the time I’m done, angel, your roast will be ready.” Hannibal said nonchalantly, undoing Will’s belt. Will just nodded, not really knowing what to do with himself.

“I, yeah, I, okay.” He stammered, positioning the two men so that he could finish preparing their meals while Hannibal could do whatever he liked. Will busied his hands with the searing of his ‘pork’ loin, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his reaction to Hannibal taking him in his mouth. He disguised the moan he was hiding as a cough, finishing off the almond crust on his roast as he hit the back of Hannibal’s throat. This wasn’t fair at all, Will thought. Not only was the extent of his expertise in the kitchen limited to Annie’s instant Mac n’ Cheese, but now Hannibal got to further distract him while he was trying to do a good job. “Hannibal,” he muttered through gritted teeth, trying to reach the plates without moving himself out of Hannibal’s mouth. 

After a very short while of attempting to finish his dinner, Will eventually succumbed and raked his hands through Hannibal’s hair, giving in to thrusting into his mouth. It didn’t take long at all for Will to fall apart, gripping Hannibal’s shoulders beneath him to stop his knees from collapsing onto the cold, white marble. Hannibal smiled and stood without a word, kissing Will as he did up his belt once more and sauntered off into the dining room, wine glass in hand. 

Will finished the food shortly, bringing it to their large table and setting it down with a flourish he hoped was comparable to the way Hannibal loved to bring out food. He cleared his throat. “Tartare and almond crusted loin, for your culinary pleasure.” He smiled, taking his seat across from Hannibal as he waited with nervous anticipation for him to try the food. Hannibal smirked, taking a fork into the tartare making eye contact with Will while he lifted it in an unnecessarily sensual manner into his mouth. He closed his eyes, a sinful moan leaving his lips as he savoured the taste of Will’s labour of love. 

“My love, it’s absolutely divine.” Hannibal said glowingly, taking another bite before setting his fork down to take Will’s hand in his. “You’ve exceeded all expectations, mylimasis. Thank you for everything you've done. Truly.” Will blushed at his words, cutting into his roast and taking a bite to see for himself if Hannibal was full of shit. To his surprise, following the recipe had gone in his favour, and Mr. König had more than fulfilled his purpose. 

“Happy birthday,” Will said a little bashfully, smiling at the praise. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” The response was automatic. Hannibal looked at Will the way he always did; with infinite and unconditional devotion. When Will brought out the strawberry covered cheesecake for dessert, he asked Hannibal what he wished for as he blew out the multi colored candles that adorned the cake’s creamy top. He took a moment, looking down at his plate and then back up at Will again, endearment and celestial reverence etched into his smile. “Everything I ever wanted, I have.”


	7. Prompt #17: Will has a wet dream

_“Will,” Hannibal was whispering to him, his thrusts increasing speed as his thumbs pressed into Will’s hip bones, staking his claim. Marking his territory._

_“H-Hannibal, please, I’m so,” he couldn’t even finish his sentence. Will was so all consumed by Hannibal - literally and figuratively - he’d given over his life, his mind, his body, and none of it mattered. Hannibal owned him._

_“I know, darling,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over Will’s collarbone as he went on. Will groaned in agonizing euphoria, drinking in every one of Hannibal’s flawless, languid movements. He couldn't take it anymore._

_“Baby I’m, Ha-hannibal..”_

“Hannibal!” Will exclaimed rather loudly for two in the morning, jolting awake in the hot summer air. He ran his palms up over his face, breaking himself out of the shackles of sleep as he came to. Hannibal glared at him from the other side of the bed, partially annoyed but primarily amused - especially given that the, um, odour of Will’s dreams was quite apparent.

“Nightmare, darling?” He asked with completely fabricated interest. He was just curious what Will would do.

“I, um, yeah.” He lied. “Yeah, I, we were running from the police and, and I lost you in the dark.” He stammered, peeling off his sweat drenched shirt. He bit the inside of his cheek trying not to laugh as he recalled the reason he used to wake up in the middle of the night sweaty.

“Mmhmm,” Hannibal mused, wondering how to approach this conversation. He obviously wasn’t going to let it go undiscussed but he also thought this was genuinely funny. Hannibal found humour in most aspects of life, but Will especially. He was one of those men that was often funny without meaning to be, which Hannibal found one of his most endearing traits.

“Anyway, uh, sorry to wake you baby.” Will attempted to smile but ended up just making a weird nervous face as he lay back down, adjusting himself into the comforter and thinking that was the end of that.

“Will.” Hannibal said, and it wasn’t quite aggressive, but it certainly wasn’t an olive branch. Will’s eyes opened, trepidation swimming in an ocean of diamond blue. “This is an invitation to tell me what I already know. Refuse, and I shall drop it. But I’d really rather you didn’t.” Will groaned, shoving his face into his pillow before sitting up, turning to face the highly entertained older man.

“Fine.” He spat, slight embarrassment in his voice overshadowed by amusement. “I was...it wasn’t a nightmare. Quite, um, quite the opposite.” Hannibal was absolutely loving this, and wasn’t hiding it at all. He was practically beaming, smugness and narcissism radiating off of him at insane levels. Will wanted to smack him.

“Go on,” he smiled. Will actually did smack him that time. Hannibal laughed as he snuck an arm around his muscular frame, hugging Will’s propped up torso against his cheek. “It was a sex dream, Hannibal.” Will sighed in defeat, getting back down beneath the comforter to hold the larger man close to him. “I don’t know why you’re acting so dumb about this, it’s not like me being sexually attracted to you is a new discovery.” Hannibal smiled, burying his face in Will’s bare chest and breathing in the scent of him. The scent of home.

“But I’ll never get tired of hearing it, mylimasis.” He hummed in content, the feeling of Will’s chest hair against his cheek bringing him an insurmountable feeling of bliss. “Plus, the knowledge that your desire for me is omnipresent within your subconscious is certainly an encouraging thought.” Will chuckled, his arm stroking the side of Hannibal’s body as they became more and more intertwined, entangled.

“Well,” Will started hesitantly. “Aren't you going to do anything about it?” Hannibal looked up at him, smiling widely at the younger man's look of anticipation, excitement. Hannibal thought for a moment.

“No.” He said with a grin, planting a kiss on Will’s cheek before resuming his position on his chest, his hand stroking up and down Will’s bare stomach as he tried to fall back asleep. Will sighed above him, dissatisfied but never displeased. He kissed the top of Hannibal’s head before closing his eyes again, hoping to dream once more about the man in his arms.

“I hope you know this means the next time you wake up hard, I have no obligation to do anything about it.” Will whispered, his mouth right against Hannibal’s forehead. Hannibal laughed slightly, his arms curling even tighter around Will’s form, the thrumming of his heartbeat through his chest was slowly lulling Hannibal off to sleep.

“Mmmm,” Hannibal sighed, half asleep. “Perhaps no obligation, my darling, but your subconscious burning sexual desire for me will be unable to prevent you from fulfilling my request.” Will almost punched Hannibal in the head, but he flinched pre-emptively as Will raised his fist in jest.

“I hate you,” he whispered, a smile on his lips as he curled inwards to face Hannibal instinctively, magnetically compelled to be as close to him as physically possible.

“I love you too, my darling boy. More than anything in the world.”


End file.
